


Take A Look At My Hands, There's So Much Here That I Don't Understand

by SlarStarsFanFics



Series: From Tumblr [9]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Artist Luther Hargreeves, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Poet Luther Hargreeves, Pre-Season/Series 01, Survivor Guilt, soft n sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlarStarsFanFics/pseuds/SlarStarsFanFics
Summary: It was hard to do any of these things now. Doing anything was hard. His hands, once trained and precise, now clumsy and uncoordinated. If you looked in his closet, you would find canvases smeared by paint and notebooks and pencils wrapped in half.





	Take A Look At My Hands, There's So Much Here That I Don't Understand

Luther used to love working with his hands. Not with tradesy things though, more like painting and poetry. As a child, he would paint beautiful pictures of his siblings when they weren’t looking. His favorite, by far, was the one of Ben and Five sitting by a tree, reading serenely. Two lost brothers at peace.

And little did the others known that he could write wonderful poems. Poems about Allison, about space, about hopes and dreams. As he got older, the poetry got darker. About hurts and traumas. His family, the lights of his life, leaving one-by-one.

It was hard to do any of these things now. Doing anything was hard. His hands, once trained and precise, now clumsy and uncoordinated. If you looked in his closet, you would find canvases smeared by paint and notebooks and pencils wrapped in half.

He tried writing again, on the moon. Poems about comets, about loneliness, about his mother. He also wrote notes to his siblings, hoping and praying that they would see them. They didn’t. His writing may have been messy and ink may have covered his hands by the time he was finished, but he felt accomplished.

Sometimes be would write notes to Five and Ben, knowing that they would never see them. He would draw them from memory, but he could never get it quite right. No matter how similar Five had looked to himself, he looked different enough to make it difficult. Ben liked being hidden away in the last years of his life, so Luther didn’t see enough of him to remember. Whenever he remembered that fact, he felt the burden of sickly guilt settle on his chest. He had that feeling a lot lately.


End file.
